The Courier and the Saint
by Lucien-LaLAME
Summary: Fresh out of Goodsprings looking for his package the Courier, who only goes by Six, is graced with an otherworldly woman who fell out of the sky- Literally. It comes to show what he and the world he grew up in really is, having to journey with this woman to save the real world.
1. A Chance Encounter

After a week recovering in the small town of Goodsprings, the Courier had decided to set out once more to find the people who had attacked and left him for dead. Despite managing a full recovery, the man found the most silent moments in his days the ones where his memory screamed the loudest.

He was, at best, a broken man. He was merely shell of the man he was, long before the ambush and being shot in the head. But the memories he managed to bury deep in his head began to surface once more.

Not a lot of people know his name, only knowing him by Courier Six or just Courier. He stood around six foot, no taller nor shorter. He had a sun-kissed complexion with shaggy dark red hair that encompassed a portion of his face, specifically the scar from where the bullet had left. He wasn't what most people expected from a Courier, but then again what's to expect?

Before finally leaving the usually small, quiet town he spent his remaining time in the Prospector Saloon drinking down any surfacing sorrows. He sat alone in the corner of the old dusty bar, not wanting anymore attention that he had earned already. He only looked up to the evening sky, his thoughts running wild.

"You really think drinking yourself gone is a good idea? Especially when you're about to take off at _night?_" he heard a familiar feminine tone reprimand him as the screeching sound of a stool being dragged against the wooden floor spliced his ears.

"Miss Smiles," he addressed his acquaintance in a thick country accent, not bothering to meet the young flower's eyes. He took another small shot of whiskey, shuttering, "With all due respect, I'm not exactly looking for company. I'll be leaving here shortly."

He felt her hand brush his shoulder, he sudden touch made him instinctively shoot her a stern look. It didn't seem to phase Sunny Smiles, who looked incredibly concerned for him. The stern soon melted, did everything but pierce his iron heart.

"I'm just worried for you," she admitted, her hand slowly slinking back to her side, "Just... Wait until tomorrow? You know, when you're not drinking?"

He grimaced as he took his last shot, slamming the small glass back on the table. He stood up, Cheyenne immediately moving out of his way. "Sorry Miss Smiles," he let out a cough, trying his hardest to fake sincerity, "But either way I'll be drinking and either way I'm leaving tonight."

He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulders, stepping out of the Prospector's Saloon and into the cool evening of the open Mojave. He noticed a strange look in the sky; through the colors of blue and indigo laid small rays of red, connected like a spider web.

In the distance he thought he saw something or someone fall out of the sky, but shook his head. Objects don't just fall out of the sky, and people certainly don't either. It was probably the whiskey playing tricks on his eyes.

He simply shrugged this strange feeling off, in just a few seconds the small red rays that connected through the sky had disappeared completely. Admittedly, he felt silly for thinking that the illusion was real. He knew of the insanity the Wastes causes on the simple human mind and that everything could be easily explained.

Still, the strange feeling didn't cease as he continued to head east of Goodsprings. His curiosity, in the end, got the better of him and he felt the need to make sure that nothing seemed out of place. He didn't see the point of protesting, as no one was around to see him go off on a ridiculous adventure to find the strange object that fell out of the sky. He was certain that it was just his imagination running wild... That is, until he actually found what he was looking for.

Laying there in the dirt and gravel, completely unconscious, was a girl. He turned back to see Goodsprings quiet and solemn like usual, then back to the girl. He scratched the back of his head, wondering what to do with someone like her. Her whole appearance was clearly out of place for their current setting, from the black and purple color of her hair to her combat boots.

A part of him felt like leaving her for the coyotes or perverted prospectors that went about the Wasteland, but then again what kind of gentleman would that make him? He certainly that no terrible plot for her.

"Goddamn it," the Courier sighed, setting down his bag on the ground. He decided to set up camp for the night, watching over the strange girl until she woke up. Just in case she happened to be a rabid nutjob, he did make sure to keep his trusted hunting rifle by his side.

He sat on the opposite side of the campfire for the next few hours, watching her carefully as he roasted some iguana bits he picked up before leaving Goodsprings. He did keep an eye out for any dangers, as well for he was acquainted with the radscorpions and coyotes that made up this area.

She did manage to awaken shortly, however. The girl's eyes fluttered open, revealing a purple iris that matched her hair and pieces of her outfit. She sat up and looked around her, clutching on to her consciousness in fear of falling back asleep and never waking up. When her gaze finally landed on the Courier, he only gave a simple wave.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he took a small bite of his iguana bits, "You were out for a while there, darlin'. I was scared you might've hit your head and bled out. How do you feel? Want some iguana bits?"

She stared at him blankly, loose strands of her strangely colored hair began to fall out of her ponytail. He wondered if she had any idea where she was. Her eyes slowly widened after a moment, blindly grabbing something from his bag and leaping on top of him, knocking him back. "Where am I? Who are you?"

He grunted as his head hit the gravel and dirt, shooting the girl a glare. He looked unimpressed with this action, glancing at what she held in her hand. "Let me get this straight," his words suddenly turned cold as ice, "You're in the middle of the Mojave Wasteland- not knowing where you are- Holding banana yucca fruit as a weapon to a man with a loaded rifle. Now, let me ask you this again: Do you want some fucking iguana bits?"

She huffed, throwing the yucca fruit over her shoulder and climbed off of him. She sat back where she previously laid, keeping her distance from him. "No, I don't want your fucking- Are you eating a _lizard?_" She began to look horrified at the meaty kebab he was holding.

He glanced at it nonchalantly, taking another bite to freak her out even more. "Lizard, iguana, I guess it's all the same," he shrugged this off.

She kept the grimace clear on her face, not bothering in hiding it from the stranger. "Great, lost in the middle of nowhere with a guy who likes the tastes of lizards," she sighed, "It'd be great if you could at least tell me where I am."

"Where do you think? You're in the Mojave Wasteland, darlin'," he slowly watched as the grimace and any other expression begin to fade from her face.

"No, no..." She shook her head, scrambling to her feet. She began to wonder around the small campsite, waving her arms and calling out to the sky, "Kinzie! Kinzie? Can you hear me? Zinyak threw me out of Steelport, Kinzie! Please, Kinzie, I need your help! I'm with this lunatic..."

"Says the girl who's yelling at the moon and literally fell out of the sky," he rolled his eyes, sitting back, "What are you even trying to do? Contact Jesus or something?"

Her hands fell down to her side and her shoulders slumped with an irritated sigh. She gave him a backwards glance, giving him a piercing glare, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to do. But only if Jesus was a chick named Kinzie Kensington. Also, only if she has one fine ass."

"I heard that," a voice from above spoke with an annoyed tone.

The Courier's face lit up somewhat since before he thought of this stranger as some crazy nut who took a little too much Jet. "I'll be damned," he said in awe, "I think you just made Jesus talk."

"Not exactly Jesus, but I'm pretty close to it," the voice laughed.

"You're my girl, Kinz," the other girl laughed and looked up, "Now feel free to zap me back into Steelport any second now. I'd like to teach Zinyak a lesson with messing with us Saints."

The voice, Kinzie, groaned loudly, "First off, don't call me you're girl anymore. Really, we've talked about this Boss. Second, it, uh... It may be a while before I can get you out of there."

"Oh don't act like you didn't like it when I took you on the des- Wait what," the girl stopped in her tracks, furrowing her brows, "What do you mean it may be a while? The fucking Earth is hanging on a thread and you're telling me I need to wait?

"It's not like I want to watch and see what Zinyak does with the world," Kinzie retorted, "But he put you in a special little program. If I need to make you a little door to Steelport I can't just type it up in a minute and _poof. _There has to be some kind of hotspot or something where I can easily hack into the program and reroute-"

"Ladies, ladies," the Courier managed to break up the conversation to get a word in, standing up, "With all due respect girls, I don't know what the hell you two are going on about. Personally I don't like to snoop, but because I helped out goth girl over here I believe I deserve some insight."

"'Goth girl'?" The girl said to herself, making a face.

"Ah, how to put it simply... We are from Earth. As in, the real Earth. As in, not your world. As in... Shit, how do I say this? What I'm trying to say is that you're a program. The world you're living in is just one large program made by Zinyak, who took over our own world- The real world. What you're looking at, the girl with all the piercings and tattoos? That's our president and we can't go on without her like she can't without us."

The Courier stayed silent for a long moment, taking in all that been dumped on him. He looked to the supposed President, who seemed to be awaiting for some kind of reaction from him. He took in her face: The bright purple eyes that matched her thick hair and makeup, the four studs that were pierced between one eyebrow and one on her nose.

He looked below to the long trench coat and purple turtle neck that cut off right above here naval, sighing and accepting this. He didn't believe a second of it, but he needed to see if it was all true. And he was only going to find out by sticking to this... Girl.

"Alright Kinzie," she turned her back to him, leaning her head back to look straight up to the sky, "Any idea on how to get out of the Macaroni Wasteland once I ditch the creep over here?"

Silence only waited in return to her question, the sound of coyotes are howling in the distance filling the quiet night. The President dropped to the ground, tapping her foot irritably and groaning. "See, _this_ is why we didn't work out..." She sighed.

It was safe to say that Kinzie was either gone or booted out, maybe even taking a bathroom break. Either way it went down, the night was growing short and soon it'd be dawn. The Courier sat back in his seat, reaching into his bag for his makeshift bed, "Well princess, I suggest get some sleep before we head out-"

"Woah, woah, woah," she interjected, turning her head to the side, "First off, don't call me princess. Second, I am not taking orders from a guy with a purse. Third, what is with this we business? There is no we, just me. And you be damned sure I'm not going to go around with some guy who was just watching me sleep. Now if you excuse me..." She picked herself back up, poking her nose in the air, "I will be resting elsewhere."

He smirked at her cocky disposition, watching as she attempted to gracefully carry herself away. The second she strutted out of sight, he heard a frantic yell and saw her coming right back with a couple coyotes chasing after her. He didn't feel entirely surprised at this, instinctively picking up his rifle and landing two bullets in each dog's skull.

She took a moment to catch her breath, looking absolutely humiliated by being chased off. She still rounded up what was left of her dignity and sneered, "Don't mind that. But as I was saying, I will be resting elsewhere!"

Instead of leaving the small set-up camp she took a few feet away and laid back down on the cold gravel. He restrained himself from chuckling out loud at this, instead craned his neck to get a look at her face, "If that's what you want, I suppose I'll put out is nice warm fire..."

She turned toward him immediately, rolling from her side to her stomach. "Don't do that," she demanded, scooting ever so closer to the fire, "Y'know, I was thinking..."

"Oh, please, do go on," the Courier kept a sarcastic tone.

"I think I should stick with you, since you obviously need my help-"

"Of course, mistress. Whatever you say."

"Seeing as you're all alone and you probably need someone of my high intellect and leadership."

"Yes, exactly. I am a lost soul in the 'Macaroni' Wasteland. Please, guide me."

"I'm glad you offered. Because I'm weaponless and you seem to have a good hold on that little rifle. I'll be the beautiful brains and you'll be the dim-witted brawn! A perfect combo."

"I agree whole-heartedly," he rolled his eyes, "Now that's out of the way, mind tellin' me your name? I rather not call you Miss President the whole time."

She sat up and scooted closer to the fire, rubbing her stomach for warmth. "I am President Harleen Rayne Nelson, for your information. But my friends just call me Harley." She struck out a hand for him to shake, a small black fingerless glove encompassing a great portion of her hand, "And you are...?"

His mouth opened for a split second before he quickly shut it once more, as if to think it over. He took in a deep breath, only answering: "Six. I'm Courier Six. Nobody special."

She furrowed her brow, Harley's mouth hanging, "You're telling me my fucking hero is a mailman? Bull shit."

"I wouldn't call myself a hero, but you're about there," she shrugged this off, laying back on his makeshift bed, "Now as I was saying, let's try to get some sleep alright? Morning's coming and unlike you, I didn't take a nap."

She stomped out the fire, spreading some dirt around it to help put it out some. She laid on her back, one leg folded another as she looked up to the sky. Six sat up to grab one last glance of Harley, before turning his back to her.

Something about her face structure and her careless disposition tugged his heart but he did what he was best and pushed it to the back of his head, leaving it to gather dust. It's what was best to ease his mind.


	2. Two Heads Are Better Than One

The duo had traveled on Six's command to Novac, Primm, and Boulder City though Six kept his reasons to himself. He didn't trust Harley enough to open up about what had happened to his delivery and the encounter with the strange men. He left her to her clueless self, keeping everything he saw and heard away from her attention.

Once Six had gathered enough information about the man in the checkered suit, Benny, from the Great Khans in Boulder City he immediately took off to a place he knew well of: Freeside.

The two had entered through the east gate, a few of the bodyguards that stood alongside the gate stared at Harley in wonder. She gave them a dirty look, though she was careful to stick closely to Six who entered the closest shop on the right.

He walked up to the closest counter and slammed his fist down to catch the men's attention. "Ralph, I need a favor," he said rather quietly, his accent was barely audible.

Ralph, who was previously completely indulged in a magazine, practically jumped out of his seat at the sudden noise. "Jesus Christ," he sighed, rubbing his eyes until he realized who stood before him, "Ah, back from the dead are we? Heard you were caught in a ditch with your brains blown. Back for more scotch?"

Six hesitated at this, slowly moving and adjusting himself to keep Harley out of Ralph's line of sight. He nodded at this, "Yeah, I'll take that in a moment. Right now it would be mighty appreciated if you could get me a credit check for the Strip. How much can I get for one?"

Ralph's eyebrows shot up immediately at this, sitting back in his seat, "I dunno, I suppose since you're a good friend and all I can at least give ya a discount... Let's say around a two hundred caps?"

"You know I don't have that kind of money," Six growled, leaning closer, "What if I just dropped the liquor? How much would that be?"

"I'm still wanting a couple hundred caps, friend. Now if you're willing to trade, ah... Maybe we can work something in your favor."

Six narrowed his eyes, "What could I have that you possibly want?"

"Well, seeing as you still have that old NCR Veteran outfit maybe Mick can patch it up for ya and we can buy it for a pretty cap or two. Hell, I'll even give ya the credit check free for that if you can get me a matching helmet."

Harley stepped into Ralph's line-of-sight, pulling Six back to get a better look at his outfit. "You want how much for this? My own get up is not even that expensive! The stratagem combo-"

"Your what?" Six made a face.

"My trenchcoat," she deadpanned, "That, my shorts, tights, and shoes are even that much!... Okay, altogether yes. But I'm talking about individually."

Ralph stared in awe at Harley, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Now that you mention it, I may be persuaded in a different direction. Give me, say, twenty minutes with your new friend and we might just work something out."

Six began to decline this offer, but Harley reacted much faster by taking Ralph's arm and twisting it back. Ralph let out a squeal, struggling under her grasp, "Alright, alright! Take the damned check and get out!"

Harley slightly twisted his arm further. "I want the scotch, too," she calmly demanded.

"Harley, it's fine," Six signaled her to release the merchant from her grasp, to which she threw Ralph back onto his seat, "Now that's out of the way, I'm sure you're willing to rethink your decision."

Ralph rubbed his sore wrist, glaring to the two and mumbling under his breath. He rummaged underneath the counter, slamming a check and a tall bottle of scotch. Six took up the objects, not bothering to hide his wide smirk. On he way out he glanced back to Ralph and happily sang, "Pleasure doing business with you, friend."

"Is he really a friend of yours?" Harley made a face, snatching the bottle of scotch away from him.

Six shrugged, "Acquaintances, at best. I used to stop by Freeside a lot before I became a courier and trade things with him and Mick. It's where I got my ol' rifle. I know most of this land like the back of my hand."

"Alright Mr. Fancy Pants, then why did that guy seem to want your duds pretty badly? No offense, but that is an outfit to keep the ladies away," she chuckled.

Six's face seemed to have fallen at the mention of this, his face and posture stiffening. "Family heirloom," he kept his words short, sweet, and low.

Harley didn't seem to have noticed his sudden change in mood. This was a good sign, as this was just another question he didn't have to answer to. They passed through the Securitrons that guarded the entrance of the Strip, Six flashing them the forged credit check as the two passed into the Strip.

Six gently grabbed Harley by the arm, pointing up to a pair of buildings on the other side of the Strip, "See that? That's where we're heading. There should be a guy in there with a checkered jacket. Do you think there's any way you could use your 'feminine charm' to help?"

She smirked, linking her arm around his own, "Why, I'd be insulted if you didn't ask. Despite how run down the Wasteland looks, you seemed to have forgotten to mention how technologically advanced your world is. What year is it, anyway?"

"Shouldn't be too far from wherever you're from. It's about, what- 2281? Yeah, that sounds about right-"

"It's what?" Her eyes almost bulged out of its sockets, "I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore, Todo..."

Six made a face at this, giving her a sideways glance before just shaking off the strange phrase. Harley wasn't very impressed with the first sights of the Strip- Before, Six made the place out to be a gambling haven and it seemed he left out some details. The prostitutes that hung outside of Gamorrah looked unhappy as ever, though they tried to distract this miserable look with a dance. What did catch her attention though was the Lucky 38, the large roulette-looking building that stood taller than any other structure. In fact, she noticed how nice and preserved the Strip was compared to the other ruins Six dragged her off to.

"You know, I'm not really feeling the whole post-apocalyptic setting with talking robots and radiated animals, but I like how this whole joint is so..."

"Homey? If you were around while this was a city, of course," he followed her gaze to the Lucky 38, his expression much more vacant than her nostalgic one, "They say up there is Mr. House who's been here for a couple hundred years. I actually had to deliver something to him, too."

"What happened?" Harley broke the hypnotic stare, arching a brow.

He stayed quiet for a moment, mulling over his next few words. He still found it hard to give her trust so early on; then again maybe she could prove to be of assistance after all. "Shit happened. We need to get into the Tops so I may 'talk' with this one guy- A guy in a checkered suit. Now that I'm thinking about it, you do have weapons right?"

She slid her arm out of his, suggesting to the pistol holsters that were latched around her thighs. He was actually impressed by this until she heard him scoff, "Please, of course not! But I do have something that could prove to be invaluable..." She rummaged in one of the holsters, pulling out miniature headphones and a small device, "An iPod!"

Six's face fell, taking the small iPod into his hands as he got a closer look, "A what?"

"My point exactly," she chuckled, resting her hands on her waist, "This technology may not be as advanced, but from where I'm from this is my personal haven. It plays music, among other things."

"You realize if you wanted to listen to music, I have a Pip Boy for that," he raised his left arm to show her, handing it back.

Harley snatched this back from him, "I've already heard the music on that little do-hickey. It's not even good music- It's that stupid 50's music that makes me feel I'm in some kind of terrible sitcom. Have you ever been in a 1950's sitcom, Six?"

Her flustered face managed to crack a smile on him, though Six turned his head so she couldn't see. She let out a groan, shuddering as she remembered the terrible experience of that simulation. They began to approach The Tops, Six stopping right outside its entrance.

"Are you coming?" Harley asked, her hand already on the door.

He remained eerily silent for a solid moment, his eyes narrowing. He felt a very soft breeze blow through; it was almost unnoticeable except for feeling the ends of his armor flapping. He felt a mixture of excitement and anger that stirred in his stomach, but a part of him was cautious. That perhaps inside there was a trap waiting for him to be ambushed once more.

A sharp pain hit his head hard, letting out a groan at the sudden sensation. He lifted his hand over the scar of the bullet, closing his eyes and cringing at the sudden pain that pulsated around his temple. He hunched over, ready to kneel down and tear his hair out if that meant having the pain leave.

The feeling of soft skin brushed against his hand, he opened his eyes to see Harley who looked fearful. "Hey- Are you okay?" her voice jumped from her casual, sarcastic tone and a more low, softer one.

"Right as rain, darlin'" he managed a weak smile.

"Are you sure? I called for you about four times- Didn't you hear me?" One hand stroked his own, the other one reaching towards his face to brush some hair out of his eyes. This had revealed the small, ugly scar that stained his skin; she reeled back her hand and the let the hair fall back over.

He felt the tips of his ears burn slightly, straightening his back and collecting himself again. The strange moment passed over them quickly, Six returning to his normal self fairly quick. "Let's go," he said quietly, walking passed her and into the Tops.

Harley quickly turned around, resuming her normal behavior. "Hey! Are we just not going to talk about that?" she said rather loudly, already capturing the attention of a few gamblers and the security there.

"There is nothing for us to talk about," he retorted, "Now please, quiet down. Remember we're here on business, if you catch my drift."

She rolled her eyes, making a face towards Six once he turned his back and followed him into the Tops.

Six handed his hunting rifle to a few gruesome looking thugs who insisted to pat Harley down for any concealed weapons she may be carrying. He slid a hand around her instead, pulling her close to his side, "Excuse me, darlin'. Are these boys troublin' you, dear?"

She tried to push him away until she noticed him give her a wink. She immediately relaxed inside his grip and curled up against him, "No, now that you're here."

The thugs took a step back, grumbling under their breaths. Six immediately recoiled his arm way from her and approached the front desk, leaning on it, "Hey there..." He glanced to the receptionist's name tag, "Swank, mind doin' me a favor?"

Harley instantly zoned out of their conversation, proceeding into the Tops to get a better look of the casino. She made a face at the music and fashion choices of the local gambler's, cueing her to mutter to herself, "It's like these people never got out of the 1950's..."

She observed the guests, eventually spotting one guy in a strange suit. She gazed at him, noticing something sparkle as it fell from his pocket.

"Hey, you," she tried to get his attention, running over to pick up the small object, "You dropped something..."

She stood back up, to see him looking wide-eyed at her, then right past her. She turned her head in time to see Six staring right back at the two, mouthing the words _oh shit._

Six snatched back his rifle as he saw him dig one hand into his checkered jacket, sprinting towards him and Harley. He tried to shout for Harley's attention, but it was too late.

The man held an arm around Harley's neck, taking out an old pistol and holding it to her head, "Ring-a-ding-ding baby, looks like this pussycat knows how to attract a stray. How about you don't take a single step closer or I blow this little kitten's brains out?"

"Let her go, Benny," Six demanded.

"I swear to God, Six, if you don't take him out then I will," Harley snarled through gritted teeth.

Six hesitated for a moment, sighing as he lowered his rifle. Harley's eyes looked wild with anger, mouthing swear words to him. Benny smiled at this, throwing her towards the Courier before taking off himself.

Harley managed to catch herself before Six did, taking a step forward and slugging him in the jaw. Six fell back, holding his mouth and groaning. "What the hell was that for?!" He snapped.

"For letting that poorly dressed bastard get away!" She huffed, crossing her arms, "I don't care if he had a gun to my head or threatened to tie me on train tracks! I'm a Saint, I can take care of myself!"

"I see that," he groaned, pushing himself up. He looked to the door, swearing aloud, "Fuck, he's probably already out of the Strip. Great going..."

"Well, he did leave something behind," Harley held up Benny's engraved cigarette lighter, handing it to Six, "At least we know his face. I mean, c'mon- the Mojave can't be that big."

Six only shoved the lighter in his pocket, slumping his shoulders without a word. He dragged himself out of the Tops, collapsing near the entrance. Harley sat next to him, laying back against the wall.

"Let's just call it a day," he sighed, "I don't have much energy to keep going, anyways. What do your people do to drown their sorrows?"

"We drink until we can't remember our names," Harley let out a humorless laugh, forcing a smile.

This also managed to get Six to crack a smirk, pulling out the scotch he ordered earlier. "Feel like giving it a whirl?" He popped off the cap.

"Seeing you look miserable as ever, friend, of course I would," she took the bottle and gave it a swig.


	3. The Lair of the Beast

"There is nothing worse than a bum with low hygiene," muttered an unfamiliar voice.

Six opened his eyes to being temporarily blinded by sunlight, holding a hand over his eyes. Standing up right before him was a very sleek and well dressed man. He looked down at Six and Harley with a narrow, judgmental gaze that he only saw in soldiers.

His head began to ache and throb as he attempted to sit up, grunting. He felt Harley roll off his abdomen; a part of him was confused as to what else happened the night before until he saw they were both still perfectly clothed.

"Can I help you?" Six groggily asked.

The man leaned down to eye level, a sliver of a smirk ever so lightly etched upon his lips, "I came bearing a message to you, Courier. It is hard to not mistake you as the enemy at the first glance."

Harley stirred under Six's arm, her eyes fluttering open at the quiet voice of the man. She stretched her limbs, squinting her eyes until she noticed the man before them. Almost as if on instinct, she sat up and halfway slipped off her trench coat with a wide smile.

"Cute" Six heard her whisper.

They spent a good minute just staring at each other, and with every passing second he found this unyielding eye contact to irritate him more and more. She bit on her lip a little bit as a tease, winking at the man. He only smirked in response.

"Anyway," Six spoke up to try and break the eye contact, standing up to make himself a barrier, "Is there a reason why you're bothering us, sir?"

Harley smacked him in the calf, "Hush it! He's not hurting anyone."

Six rolled his eyes, ignoring this comment. The man picked himself up as well, dusting off any invisible dirt that might have gathered on his nice suit. Still, he didn't seem phased by this new unwanted atmosphere that circled between the two men; if anything he seemed amused.

He held out his hand, showing a small ring with the outline of a bull inside it. Six picked it up from his hands, his eyes slowly widening with surprise. He knew well of this symbol and the people who bore it; a feeling of anger and fear ran through him at the thought of having him so close to Harley.

"Vulpes Inculta," he breathed, his eyes lifting to the man in front of him.

He sneered at the sound of his name, "Any crimes you may have perpetrated against the Legion are hereby forgiven, Courier. Caesar will not extend this mercy a second time. My Lord requires your presence at his camp, at Fortification Hill. His Mark will guarantee your safe-conduct through our lands."

Six hesitated for a moment to lick his lips and plan out his next few words. "Alright," he answered after a moment, "And what happens if we don't choose to show up to your little banter?"

"I would advise you to show yourself at our camps. It has come to Caesar's notice that we have come into contact with something you are after. We hear you are on a quest for vengeance, am I correct?" He arched a brow.

"What's he talking about?" Harley asked. He looked over his shoulder to see her looking uncertain, just as afraid as he felt a moment ago.

Vulpes tipped his hat, giving Harley and him one last glance, "The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you both."

Harley sighed with longing as she watched him walk off, a cool step in his stride. Six grunted at this, mumbling swear words to himself as he picked himself off the ground, dusting off any dirt that may have landed on his armor.

He looked down to a very confused Harley, "Well? You heard the guy, we have a meeting with Caesar."

Harley arched a thin brow, "And is that someone whom is of some sort of importance?"

"Unfortunately," he sighed, helping her up.

At the direction of Vulpes, Six and Harley steadily made their way to the land just below Caesar's camp at Cottonwood Cove. Six found it irritatingly inconvenient that Caesar had made the decision to build his camp right on top of the bunker at Fortification Hill. No doubt this was deliberate Six thought as his boots crunched on the dusty red ground beneath his feet. Harley noted his irritated expression as he looked over his shoulder.

"What's up your ass?" She made a face.

Six rolled his eyes, "I'm not a fan of how Inculta just stared you up and down like a piece of meat. Legion men don't care when it comes to unwanted attention-"

He cut off by the sound of Harley scoffing, "Please, that was _far_ from unwanted. Did you see the guy? A bit short for my taste, but I'm not going to nit pick. Other than that he was a cutie. Best part? He was so checking me out."

Six only grew more irritated by this, though he couldn't really explain why. He was sure it was somewhere between the sake of Harley's safety and the smug expression on Vulpes' face.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" He heard Harley tease. He felt the tips of ears begin to burn, though he blew it off like nothing.

This had only added to Six's pre existing annoyance. But something about her laughter brought back wonderful childhood memories that he had buried deep in his mind. The bittersweet feeling of nostalgia washed over him and soon he was right as rain.

"Darlin', please," he scoffed in return, his lips curling into a playful smile, "I'm trying to save you from a guy who'd probably crucify you for his own enjoyment."

Harley stopped mid-step, her expression remained blank as she processed this thought. "So, what you're telling me is," she took a long breath, "He likes it kinky."

"That's one way to look at it," they heard Kinzie remark from above.

Harley had jumped at the sudden sound of her former lover's voice, whereas Six was more welcoming to it. He nodded his head in satisfaction toward Harley, smirking, "At least someone gets it."

Harley ignored this, waving a hand in the sky. She placed both hands on her waist, looking up to the sky. "Hey there beautiful, nice to finally show up. Funny thing, I managed to lost get my head blown off just yesterday..."

"Please, I've only been gone for about fifteen minutes. How much could I have missed? And also, don't even think about buttering me up. Especially when I just caught you talking about some other guy with a crucifixion kink!"

Harley's shoulders slumped forward. _Shit_, she swore. Six had to suppress a chuckle.

"As I was going to say, I came to drop by and tell you two that there's an incredibly powerful signal not too far from here, as you get closer there is no doubt that the connection between us will get rather tenuous as you approach it. The equipment there must be incredible!"

Harley was quick to cut her off, pushing Six, "Sorry Kinzie, I love you but we have places to be!"

There was no reply from Kinzie, hopefully it was safe to say she was gone. She was not interested in the slightest to hear Kinzie go off on one of her "nerdy moments", as she dubbed them. Harley could sigh in peace without having to hear Kinzie rant on technology.

"Hard to believe you two didn't last," Six jokes, which earned him a quick punch in the arm. This only made him laugh harder in return.

The laughter did, eventually, die down and the silence between them began to return. Six couldn't help but toss the young president a few glances, letting out fake coughing noises to fill the silence.

Abruptly, she stopped and immediately spun to his direction. "Can we talk?" She asked. Her expression suddenly looked worried or concerned, something he wasn't very acquainted with when it came to Harley. "I feel like you're hiding something," she admitted.

Six cursed himself for not seeing this coming sooner, taking a deep breath to keep himself calm and steady. He turned to her. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

She crossed her arms. "We've been traveling together for a little over a week now and it seems people keep referring to you about some sort of incident. I don't know what happened, but the more and more I think about it the more and more worried I become." She stretched out one arm to move some of his hair out of his face, revealing the scar that was left. "Does it have something to do with this?" She asked.

He gently, but firmly grabbed her hand and moved it away from his head. His expression remained grave, uncaring. Something about her touch, though, made his heart tug violently. He threw her hand away, shaking his head so his hair would cover it back up.

They descended down a steep hill, through the small retreat Cottonwood Cove, toward the mouth of the river. Six silently produced his Mark of Caesar to the Cursor Lucullus, who proceeded to give the duo an equally silent nod to get on his small sized boat as he rowed them up the winding river.

Upon reaching the camp on the opposite bank they were greeted by the distinct sound of metal on stone with characteristics of a sword being grinded, multiple ones on the matter. The collective noise drove Harley crazy. She had to wonder if these guys ever slept. Six placed a hand on Harley's shoulder for reassurance, "You nervous?"

Harley plastered a fake, cheesy grin on her face, "You know it."

"Just keep cool and everything will go smoothly," he instructed her. Despite this, Harley couldn't help feel like she had done something wrong or strange in the presence of these men. Or simply they had not seen very many women. Harley laughed at this thought.

"Something funny?" Six asked, looking over his shoulder to glance at the shorter girl.

"It's just that I don't think these men have had any company of the opposite sex for a loooong time," she laughed. To one soldier, she eased a piece of her coat off her shoulder and wriggled her eyebrows suggestively, before turning into a fit of giggles and catching up to Six.

As Harley and Six went to enter the biggest tent, no doubt Caesar's, Harley found her way quickly barred right after Six had gained entrance. "Hey, the fu-What gives?" She began to raise her voice, staring the Legionary in the face, or well, his masked face.

Six turned back to her, sighing, "Hang tight, darlin'. This shouldn't take long."

A moment after Six had left her with that guard, who had his arms crossed and his eyes locked on her, he finally spoke: "Caesar expressed his wish that he only desired to speak with the courier, an uncultured woman like you is not but an insult to his glory."

Harley gave a small smile, eye twitching. "Is that so? More than likely he has had one too many men stuffed in his ass to know what a real woman is. In any case, you better hope we don't cross paths and it's just you, buddy."

Six reached Caesar's throne, the older man was engaged in deep conversation with his Vexillarius leader, Vulpes. The two men exchanged hard glances toward one another, for a second Vulpes' eyes roved over the room to double check for Harley's presence (which partially made Six thankful she was stopped outside the tent).

He looked back to Caesar whom seemed to have finally noticed him; his eyes lowered for a split second to glance down at the Legion's master's robotic hand. For a moment seeing the mechanical arm, Six was reminded of his scar. He brushed this off as he tended to do, of course.

"So you're the Courier that's been stirring these lands," Caesar greeted him, a cordial smile stretched his face. This was not the man Six had always imagined; he was but a shell of the monster he had always envisioned.

"To track the man who shot you down and travel across the Mojave? You're determined, and when you're determined you get results," he nodded his head proudly, not unlike a father filled with pride for his rising pupil of a son.

"Thank you, sir," Six coughed, clearing his voice, "Assuming I'm here for something a little more than to pick up my package and the chairman, I really have no interest-" He was clearly cut off by Caesar risen hand, silencing himself at once.

"But that is why I summoned you here, is it not? For those two things. Now, I'm a man of my word and from what I hear you are as well. I am ready to extend these two gifts to you as long as you are ready to extend a gift back. The real question is are you ready to begin?"

Six narrowed his eyes slightly toward Caesar, whom smirked. He knew what he was doing and he was playing his cards well. He turned his head to the right, a similar expression lightening his features as he saw Benny tied, on his knees, and held a look of profound fear.

Without resuming the eye contact with the other man, he responded, "Allow me to finish my business with Benny and we may be able to work something out."

He felt a hand firmly curl over and grip his shoulder, "Patience, my son, his time is soon to come."

Six turned his head back only far enough to peer at Caesar out of the corner of his eye, narrowing it dangerously close. He rolled his shoulders in a shrugging fashion, shaking off the unwanted contact. "What sort of assistance could I be of you?" He asked. His tone was more skeptical than cordial now.

Caesar turned to face his throne, the two men looking to a few of the best soldiers the Legion had to offer, "The time for my men to assault the dam and take over the west is quickly approaching. Before we take any actions, I want Mr. House taken care of once and for all- By you, of course."

"And how do you plan I do that?" Six scoffed.

Caesar gently reached for his the other's wrist, bringing up his hand and placing what felt like a thick coin inside. Six stared hard into the Caesar's eyes, curling his fingers around the object and nodding. "Thank you," he whispered. A part of him was in disbelief he was thanking the cruelest, most heartless man in the Mojave. The scourge of the east.

Caesar was the one to break the eye contact from the Courier. He glanced to the ground, recoiling both arms and taking a deep, steady breath: "At the far end of this camp is a weathering station. Underneath it is an underground bunker that I need you to destroy, which leads to another reason why I return this to you. It holds much power, enough to destroy House's backbone."

Six turned his back, not speaking a word of response. Caesar simply took this as his way of accepting.

He came out to a rather tense looking Legionary and an overly satisfied looking Harley. Six was half tempted to ask what just happened, but decided it was best left alone.

"Well, I got what I was looking for," Six informed her with a wolfish grin, "I just need to do one small thing first, before we leave."

Harley crossed her arms at this, her look of satisfaction turning sour. "What about the guy dressed like a chessboard?"

"I'll decide what to do with him once we get this done, darlin'. Right now his significance is in the negatives now that the chip is back in our hands. Just... Let's try to not repeat ourselves, alright?"

"Excuse me?!" Harley spluttered, before throwing her hands up in accusation, "Okay, yeah, the _one_ time I try to go out of my way and be nice! Fuck..." She shook her head, dropping her arms. "I'll meet you at the boat.'

"But-" Six began until Harley practically sliced him in half with her gaze.

"At the boat." She growled.

"Whatever you say, darlin'" he shook his head, watching Harley storm off. He couldn't help but mutter in addition, "Women..."

He fiddled with the Chip through his fingers as he made his way toward the old weathering station. He kept one hand secured on his old rifle, eyeing the Legionnaires with just as much suspicion as they had for him. They were tolerable, to say the least, once he was inside. He has accessed the door to the underground bunker, recognizing the signature number, 38, carved into the steel doors.

The inside reminded him of a Pre-War factory with a big exception of his surroundings looking cleaner. Much cleaner, in fact. He found a large screen with a picture of an incredibly handsome man across it. He wondered if this was House's version of surveillance cameras before hearing a long sigh, "How disappointing it is for us to meet face-to-face like this."

"With all due respect sir, this is far from face-to-face," Six retorted, "I had other business that needed attending."

House sighed, "Very well, straight to the point then. Deep in this bunker lies a software upgrade that will greatly enhance the capabilities of the Securitrons on the Strip. And the 'almighty Caesar' had no idea of the true capabilities of this base."

Six had to hand it to him, this man always seemed to be two steps ahead. He couldn't help but smirk at this man's intelligence, glancing away. A piece of him wished Harley tugged along to see how she would react. "I'll get the software upgrade for you," Six replied slowly, "... Maybe."

"I eagerly await the results." House's response held a monotone sound that made him wonder what went behind the screen. If he was afraid that the bunker would be blown to smithereens, anxious to have the Courier under his wing. Assuming House could feel, of course.

What Mr. House had conveniently forgotten to mention, as Six saw as he ventured deeper inside the bunker, was the still active Securitrons dotted around the complex. Some went down with a hitch, but some fought against him.

"Oh thanks asshole…" Six muttered as he systematically gunned them down as they exploded with a large static _pop_. As easy as these things mostly were, Six was about as much of a fan of burns from concentrated high energy fire as the next guy. That is to say, not much at all.

He managed to take a few hits, two in his arm and once in the chest. He persisted, though, as many of the turrets and other bits of security seemed to almost fall apart at the seams. The final room, however, was almost enough to blow him up and leave nothing but his shoes. He was outnumbered severely. By the time he did manage to pull through, he was left with less than half the ammo he started with. He cursed at himself for this, telling himself to remember to buy some more next time he saw Mick.

He slid the chip inside a slot and dragged what remained of him back through the halls. He didn't bother to holster his rifle as let it drag behind it on the metallic ground. His posture had slumped some, by the time he got back to the old, wide screen of House. "The deed is done," Six coughed, his accent a blur.

"Excellent. When you are done with... What has already occupied you, do come pay a visit at the Lucky 38. I'm sure our work together is far from being finished," House chimed.

Something about his tone didn't seem authentic to Six. As if the gleeful tone was forced. Either way, he did feel obligated to finish the delivery at last. "Maybe," he answered once more, though by then the picture had changed to the bleak words: _Connection Lost…_


End file.
